A Change of Plans
by Ninjagirl2211
Summary: She wanted to light up the world, and shape it into one she remembered—he wanted to put it into a never ending genjutsu. Go figure. OC/Madara


**A Change of Plans**

* * *

><p>Night. A spectral moon shone down ominously—huge in the ink black sky, surrounded by countless pinpricks of flickering lights. It was quite sudden, shockingly so, when, without anyone noticing, one of those stars flared in a bright, desperate pulse of brilliance…then disappeared, never to shine into the wondering eyes of those on earth again. But there, under that blood-red moon, stood two men who—while under any other circumstances may have stood companionably side by side looking up at that endless blanket of stars—gave no care to the celestial phenomena above them. There was no kind god in that sky who smiled favorably upon Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha.<p>

They stood within a scar rent in the land. It stretched for miles—an unnatural crevice in the earth. Upon its creation, the raw destruction could be felt in tremors for leagues in any given direction. Such was the godlike power of those who called themselves shinobi. Rain began to pelt down upon the two weary warriors' shoulders. The shower escalated quickly into pouring cascades, and the two were reduced to drenched statues with what little regard they gave the weather. The noise of the drops upon what was left of Hashirama's plated armor was deafening in the weighted silence between them, almost like pebbles hitting marble. The other half appeared to have been burnt off; his left arm hung charred and nearly useless at his side—a sword held at guard in his right, his last weapon—though if he was in pain he endured it well. His face showed nothing but a grave, severe frown focused upon his opponent. It spoke volumes about pain…just a different kind.

Madara, in contrast, seemed to be the least injured of the two, though, panting in exhaustion, they both bore scrapes, scratches, and shook with the effort it took to stand—Madara didn't even have enough chakra left to sustain the sharingan. However, he also shook with a creeping cold that set in as the chilling rain sunk through his high-collared canvas garb—it felt entirely too heavy and stuck to his skin uncomfortably. Still, as the water from a stilted stream trickled down like the beginnings of a waterfall into the rocky crater they had created, and made its way between them like the river they used to play by as children, even _he_ couldn't help but feel the tiniest stirrings of irony as he stared down his most hated rival across from it with a tilt of his head and a mirthless smirk. "This time…you won't make it to the other side."

As if it were the trigger, it sent them both charging at each other with the last vestiges of strength they possessed, Madara, with a sickle in one hand, gunbai in the other, Hashirama, his lone sword held staunchly, burnt arm trailing limply in his wake. They passed each other in a flash of sparks from their weapons, but only one of them struck true… And Hashirama fell, face down in the growing pool of muddy water at their feet, now tainted with blood.

"Heh… The tables have finally turned, huh?" Madara mused with slightly morbid fascination as he watched the Senju leader struggle to sit up, failing in his pitiful attempts to continue the fight. "Looks like I'm the last man standing now…"

"We finally…achieved…our dream…" The other man managed to force out the words, though a stream of blood trailed down his chin with them. "I can't…_won't_…let anything get in the way…"

"You seem to be taking this rather hard, Hashirama…" Madara noted conversationally as he strolled in leisurely to perform the final blow. "Sorry. This time I won't be making you feel better by pretending to share a couple of the same childish delusions we had when we were kids. This is what reality looks like."

Madara didn't see the look of pained resolve on the other man's face when the sword went through his back. And when his wide eyes moved slowly from the wood clone he'd previously been speaking with to see the man on the other side of the sword sticking through his chest, it was then only to behold the darkest expression he'd ever seen on—idiot, idealistic, optimistic pessimist—Hashirama Senju's face. He let out a gurgling cough that sprayed blood past his lips and down his chin. "When did you…get…behind…"

"No matter what the obstacle in my way, I will go to whatever means necessary to protect our…" He paused ruefully. "no…_my_ village. I still believe I can make it work…that having the best interest of the village at heart will protect all who settle within it." His eyes took on a terrifying conviction as he conveyed, "If anyone dares disturb that harmony…whether it be family, my own _children_…or someone I consider a brother…" His voice chilled as he concluded, "_I will strike them down without hesitation_…"

He was about to pull the sword out of his friend when, it appeared that some ways up the river they had inadvertently diverted with their earth rendering battle, a strangely complex damming mechanism which had sustained heavy damage finally had finally given out, the raging force behind the river flinging its bits and pieces into the rapids. The technique worthy force behind it sent an unrelenting burst of water spouting down into the crevice the two had made, causing a good bit of the fragile wall to collapse, and the crater began to fill at an alarming rate. Hashirama's eyes widened, and, had he remained for any length of time, would have been swept away with the tide…just like Madara…

* * *

><p>If the terrible shrieks and howls of some giant creature that sent her huddling in a corner for the better part of the night and the ominous rumbles in the ground weren't enough, when her power went out some time around midnight, Misae knew something was terribly wrong. At dawn, she bravely set off into the woods that surrounded her cabin at a brisk hike. Thirty minutes in—pretending not to see the horrendous signs of damage to the forest—she reached the river. What she found there had her nearly in tears.<p>

The dam. _Her_ dam that she'd invested so much time and effort into was _gone_. Furthermore, the river itself appeared to be damaged. It was flooded over, the old riverbed abandoned in favor of a gouged out trench that, when followed, led to a…gigantic hole in the ground. She spotted several pieces of her equipment still floating about in the giant pool. It gave her a bit of hope. Whatever the case, she needed to find the turbines. They had been the most difficult to get ahold of.

Resolving to dive down and search below the surface of the miniature lake when she had a less time sensitive deadline, Misae followed the new route of the river carefully, scavenging any parts of her dam that had washed up onto the muddy banks. Most of it was unsalvageable. She despaired, but that had been expected for the most part… What she didn't expect to find was a man with a sword stuck through him.

She dropped the debris in her arms in pure shock. "Oh god…" Her vividly violet eyes were wide in horrified astonishment behind her equally vivid red bangs. She was frozen like a rabbit upon being spotted, unable to take a single step forward or back for the longest of moments. Indecision gripped her next. Forward, or back, forward, or back? She could just turn around and go back the way she came. Forget it ever happened. The river would swell in a couple of days and take the body with it. But…what if…

What if.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, she tremulously took a step forward, then another…another. For another long moment, she stood over the man—because it was _definitely_ a man—and then, hesitantly, ever so hesitantly, knelt by his side. Reaching out shakily, she touched the pads of her fingers to his neck, taking care not to touch the vulnerable skin with her long pointed nails. Her first thought when the faintest rhythmic beat pulsed back against her fingertips was, '_How on _earth_can you still be alive_?'

In the next—though she knew the smartest option would be to just leave him there to die—she hauled one of his muscular arms over her shoulder and took upon herself the arduous task of lugging the heavy almost-carcass back to her cabin. Normally, this would be a problem for most women of her stature. Well, most normal women, anyway. Misae wasn't exactly what you'd categorize as normal—considering there were two horns sticking out on either side of her head.

There were stories told in the outlying villages of a witch that lived deep in the forest—oni, devil, a hideous creature that ate children who wandered too far in. It was just Misae though. She snickered at the thought. She'd never hurt anyone. The rumors never hurt either though. She was able to live on in relative peace away from humans. Well, technically, she was human too. At least she was pretty sure she was. Though quite waiflike in structure, she'd always been hardy, and difficult to wear down as far back as she could remember. The rest came with time, and hard earned experience living on her own. She rarely ventured out, and only then when she was in desperate need of materials for her work. The rest she was perfectly capable of acquisitioning on her own. The forest was her garden…though she was a little afraid to see what had become of it after whatever calamity had taken place.

There came a point where she had to stop kidding herself though. Even after all these years isolated from others, she still couldn't bring herself to forget she had been born into a world full of superhuman ninjas. There was a time where she refused to look at the face of the man she was currently dragging along, but she already knew who he was. Few people, even shinobi, were actually capable of completely rearranging the topography of a landscape. In fact, it probably should've come to her upon seeing the gigantic crater in the ground left in their wake. The Valley of the End. How could she possibly be so stupid?

The man whose arm she had hauled over her shoulders was none other than Madara Uchiha.

There was a slightly sick feeling in her stomach, and a near crippling tremor in her heart, but somehow, she forced herself to keep going regardless. '_Don't think about it. Don't think about it,_' she chanted to herself, biting her lip, creating a pang of pain to focus on instead. '_This is just a man. He's hurt. I can't just leave him to suffer and die. I don't leave _animals_to suffer and die. Why do it to a fellow human being_?'

"Sometimes animals are nicer than human beings…" she remarked lowly under my breath. "And it's not like the majority of human beings consider _me_ one among them either…" _Onidemondevilwitchfreak_—

She promptly cut off that line of thought and focused single-mindedly on the path ahead. She pointedly did not think of the man she hauled at her side—just getting back home, so she could treat the wound. Hopefully it wasn't fatal. She didn't want it to get infected either. She knew a poultice… Comfrey and calendula should work…if it wasn't already too late for that. She'd need to stich up the wound too…after removing the sword. That wasn't going to be fun. He'd probably wake up when she did it. Maybe she could keep him sedated for the duration of his stay. Yes. That was an infinitely more pleasing thought. Opium might do it—not that she ever used the stuff. Really. It was all left over from the old man.

Matsutaro had taken her in nearly twenty years ago. He was a codgery old hermit, and blind as a bat—which was probably the only reason he didn't drive her off with his knobby old walking stick. But she loved him anyway. And she thought he loved her too, which was why he taught her all about his herbs and…maybe a little bit _too_ many recreational drugs—not all of which were strictly legal by Daimyo standards… Though eccentric as one could get, Matsutaro was an expert in his trade. He could work magic, even while completely intoxicated. People used to come from all over to see the old man for tonics, and under the counter drugs. Now, after his passing, only the brave came to seek her out. It was no longer the wise man in the woods people came to see, but the witch doctor who took a first born as payment…which was _completely_ untrue, she noted with a tone of reproach to her thoughts. Still…it was much lonelier since Matsutaro had been gone. She cried some nights, and made sure to leave an offering of pleasant smelling herbal flowers at his grave regularly.

The opium only worked on Madara for about a day. The only thing she could say for it was that he must've had a much higher constitution than she was used to working with. She was _sure_ she'd measured out the dosage accurately, having an intimately extensive knowledge of his body weight after dragging him for what must have been miles through bush and bramble. She may have been done for the moment he woke up were it not for his wound…and the fact that he was still completely high as a kite.

Misae stood awkwardly over the heap on the floor with a half butchered rabbit in one hand where she had dodged him spectacularly easily and suggested in a small voice, "…I really think you should lie back down."

He looked up at her through bleary, unfocused eyes, and, out of all the things he could've asked, he slurred out, "…Why do you have horns?"

She blinked several times. She didn't think she'd ever been addressed so bluntly before. Nor had she ever been asked that particular question. And so she had to think about it for a second. "I really have no idea. I was just born like this…" There was silence until she noticed the ominous bloom of blood on the man's bandages and cursed quietly, unceremoniously dropping the rabbit and hauling the man back into her bed. "Your wound has opened up again. Please refrain from trying to attack me while I fix the damage you've done. I still have that sword you were impaled on and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I got impaled…?" The unfocused look on his face became more pronounced as, somewhat hysterically, he let out a completely inappropriate giggle, then winced as his wound became irritated. "Ouch…"

"Yes." She agreed dryly as she quickly unwrapped the bandages, focusing on the wound. "I can imagine that 'ouch' would be the proper response… I feel I should inform you that I've taken the liberty of medicating you to dull the pain. Also, you smell horrible. If you're done trying to kill me—or whatever it was you were attempting to do—I'll make up a bath for you. Does that sound agreeable?"

Sober enough to scowl at her polite but brusque tone, he nodded once. Satisfied, she smiled thinly at him as she wiped away the trickle of blood off his chest. "Good. Please refrain from moving too much without assistance. The wound did not open this time, thankfully, but too much activity and you might pop the stitches. That would be a very stupid way to die. And I'd really hate to have to bury someone else in my yard."

He blinked blearily. "…_Who_ is buried in your yard?"

"My shisho, Matsutaro Mukuro," she replied, composing her features into a professional mask as she continued to dab gently at the wound. "He passed three years ago. You may have heard of him. He was fairly well known."

He scrunched up his face as pain clearly wracked through his frame. "Rings a bell…"

She shrugged in response. "Don't worry, Shinobi-san. You're in good hands. Hopefully you'll be out of here in under a month."

"I don't have anything to pay you with…" he grunted.

Again, she shrugged. "Having you out of my hair is payment enough. I usually don't deal with shinobi. Shinobi cause problems. Like destroying my dam, and half the forest. If you were anyone else, I'd force compensation out of you. But seeing as how you, and whoever else shoved that damned sword through you are frankly mindlessly terrifying, I'll have to refrain… Pity that."

He seemed to be slowly emerging from the haze of intoxication with a calculating gleam to his eye. She decided she didn't like it. "You don't seem mindlessly terrified right now…"

"That is because I am a professional and you are my patient," she replied matter-of-factly. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've done it by now. I don't know who you are, or what that giant fight was about, and I don't _care_ to know. I am no liability to you, therefore, you have no reason to hurt me. And if you do, then you are a cruel, wicked person with no right to exist on this planet, and I hope you'll be proud of yourself."

His face went somewhat slack at the scathing tone at the last remark, then barked a laugh with another wince. "You're really taking a risk…you have guts, Woman. Interesting… I like you."

There was a slight flutter in her chest at the praise—from Madara Uchiha no less. Starstruck? Was that what this feeling was? If it was, then it was _extremely_ misplaced. But, nonetheless, she still felt it. How strange. She averted her eyes from his bare chest, standing abruptly. "I'll take that as a vote of confidence then. I shall return when the bath is ready." She stopped in the doorway though, upon realizing something. Turning to regard him languidly sprawled across her bed with another strange flutter she felt inclined to inform him. "You may refer to me as Misa-sensei for the duration of our acquaintance."

Without waiting for a name in return, as she wasn't expecting one, she was satisfied, and went to fill up the ofuro in the modest bathhouse not far from the cottage itself. It was set up by a small lake which was an offshoot of the main river, so fresh water was readily accessible through the aqueducts that fed the plumbing. Thankfully, it looked like its tributary had remained undisturbed by the traumatic events that had taken place not two nights ago. After she set a fire under the round bath, and set out a worn but comfortable yukata that had belonged to Matsutaro-jii-san, she dumped a generous amount of lavender oil in the water, because he really _did_ stink. Not to mention the oil had helpful properties when it came to wounds. It hadn't festered yet, and Misae was hoping to keep it that way.

She took Matsutaro's walking stick and handed it to the man with only the slightest of hesitation. "Here. I'm sure Shisho won't mind." Then she herded him off to the bathhouse with specific instructions on how not to irritate the wound. Ideally, she would've done it herself, but she didn't like the idea of him being conscious and watching her while she bathed him. Besides, he didn't seem incapable, or stupid enough to deliberately pick at a stab wound. She _did_ pop in to swipe his pants, however, because—like the rest of him—they desperately needed to be washed. She'd already done so to the top half of the gear he'd come with, sewing up the rips and tears that had come with it as pristinely as she had dealt with the nasty impalement through the man's chest.

In short, dealing with him was a lot of work. She usually just whipped up a tonic or hawked off a love potion to anyone who was brave enough to come knock on her door. She hadn't really had a chance to bring someone back from near death in quite a while. Somehow, it was a welcome bit of change to the usual monotony. Despite it all, and her lackluster attitude towards most people in general, she adored company. Even if the form it came in this time was more than a little unorthodox…

But that was okay. He'd be gone soon, just like the rest. Company was grand and all, but the shinobi just had to go. Even if he _wasn't_ his particular brand of shinobi, shinobi were bad news in general. Harboring one—_especially_ this one—would bring nothing but trouble to her door. Of that, she was sure of. She didn't want to be involved with whatever was going on with this one. Her memory of future events was unreliable at best, but whatever it was, it was sure to be dangerous. She couldn't afford dangerous. The early years of her life had been full of it, and she did not welcome it back.

Which begged the question…why didn't she just leave Madara Uchiha to die like he should have?

The answer presented itself plainly nearly as soon as the question did. Misae didn't care who he was. All she knew was that he was dying. So she saved him. It was as simple as that. She wanted to help people. It didn't matter if they were good, bad, or crazy as all seven hells like Madara was. It wasn't her job to judge. Her job was to heal people. So that was what she was going to do, even if it _did_ invite danger back into her life.

He was gone within two weeks without a word. She wasn't really too surprised about that part. What really flipped her lid was the bushel of daffodils that ended up on her doorstep two days after. She was pretty sure Matsutaro-jii-san had told her something about there being a meaning behind these sorts of things. Hanakotoba. Respect, huh? What were the chances…?

Her face felt hot as she arranged them carefully in a vase and took them out to set them by Matsutaro's grave. "I received flowers from a man for the first time…" she admitted bashfully. "He's crazy though. I doubt you'd approve. I know I don't." She sighed with a bit of a shrug. "Things have been uneventful without him around I guess. Same as usual. Back to normal… I'm happy…" Her head drooped. "This is the part where you're supposed to say, 'Hora, hora, Misa-chan! Even a drugged up old man could tell if you were lying!'" She frowned when, as expected, she received no reply, and bit her lower lip as it began to tremble. She really hated being alone…

She started as a voice spoke from behind her (as if on cue), "Those are beautiful flowers. I'm pretty sure they don't grow around here though…"

Whirling, her eyes widened upon taking in the form of a tall figure. He was kind faced, with laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his dark eyes, equally dark long curtains of hair framing them on either side of his tanned face. Blinking several times in shock, she informed him truthfully, "You nearly scared me to death. Do you like to give people heart attacks?"

The questions seemed to pierce him like arrows and he backed away slightly with a wince, "I…I apologize, Kind Lady. I wasn't thinking."

She considered him very carefully, taking in his features, and feeling her hackles rise with suspicion. "Who are you? What do you want from me? Tonics? Potions?"

"Ah…no, nothing like that," He waved her off, shaking his head with another careful smile her way. "My name is Hashirama. I heard of an herbalist in the area, and I was just wondering if I could ask—"

"I do not eat children," she told him seriously. "nor do I bargain for firstborns. I am not a witch, nor am I a miracle worker. I will not resurrect your dead uncle. I do not deal in the illegal drug trade. Whoever told you so is stupid, and a liar, and you should not listen to a word they say." She paused at the dumbfounded look on his face, then continued in a more gentle tone. "If none of those answer your questions…may I suggest we continue this conversation indoors? I have a special tea heating on the kettle and I do not wish for it to boil over. You are welcome to some, if you wish."

The man called Hashirama grinned winningly at her and bowed at the waist, effectively embarrassing the living hell out of her. This man was clearly Hashirama Senju, the _Hokage_, and he was _bowing_. To her. There was something wrong with him. Either he was intentionally trying to embarrass her, or he was really just… She stopped on that train of thought, unwilling to put further frustration into it, twirling on her heel and walking into her house without waiting to listen to his reply. If he wanted to show up on her property asking questions, he could do it on _her_ prerogative. This wasn't an interrogation. She refused to let it escalate that far.

Inwardly, almost as an afterthought, she cursed Madara for existing.

* * *

><p><strong>FIVE MINUTES LATER<strong>

"OUT! Get OUT!" There was a crash, and a blur as _the_ Hashirama Senju fled from the residence. The enraged woman followed him out, shaking her fist with the teapot she'd apparently thrown at his head brandished threateningly as she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Don't you dare come back unless you have that bastard with you! I want my money, and a full clean-up crew! You're paying for every cent of the damage! You hear me!? Keep your damn life or death battles off my property!"

"I'm sorry!" He shouted back sincerely from a safe distance away. "I'm really, _really_ sorry!"

"Sorry? _Sorry_?!" Her face was cherry red from fury. "I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry!' I want my goddamn power back on!"

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Misae-sensei!" he tried reasoning with her in a pleading voice. "We have power in the _village_. If you would just see—"

"NO!" She threw the cast-iron teapot again with surprising power behind it, narrowly missing the flustered ninja's head. "This is my home! And I am _staying_! If you won't give me compensation for the damages, then you can stay off my land! This is a 'no ninja zone!' I am declaring it right here and now!"

Somehow, the subject of Madara was skipped over entirely in the face of Misae's very real rage at the destruction of her home. She hadn't had the guts to outright confront him about it, even in his weakened state, but Hashirama…to put it bluntly, he came off as a bit of a tree hugging tool to most people, despite his prowess in battle, and so served as the receptacle of said rage. It wasn't fair, and he was sure she realized that, but rage wasn't exactly a logical emotion, nor did it take fairness into account. Madara knew that better than most.

Still, there was just something strangely satisfying about seeing Hashirama apologizing over and over again, all the while running away from a tiny woman with a teapot. Misae really _did_ look like a demon with that expression on her face. He was used to seeing her calm and in control, with her dry humor, and demure features, guarded smiles. He had to hand it to her though, she really knew how to take control of a situation that had the potential to end badly for her. He'd left the daffodils on her porch knowing Hashirama would show up soon. They grew in a completely different part of the country. Of course it would draw suspicion.

She passed the test with flying colors. The girl could handle herself, if the scene of Hashirama himself literally fleeing the premises was any indication of her worth. Madara wasn't one to leave loose ends. From the beginning, he'd been planning on disposing of her to keep his death quiet. Upon further reflection, however, he knew Hashirama would never stop looking unless he found a body. That could be arranged, though it would have to be done convincingly…and the girl would need to be kept quiet.

She didn't need to die though, he'd convinced himself over the few vacation-like weeks he'd spent in her care. She was interesting, and as of now—having singlehandedly driven off Hashirama's pointless sniffing—proven to be reliable, and trustworthy. Given the vastly improved state of his wound, she had also proven to be invaluably useful to him. He couldn't deny the fact that she had saved his life with little more than a few herbs and homemade remedies. Furthermore, there was none of that itchy, unnatural feeling that came with healing ninjutu. Perhaps he could find some more use from her in the future after all.

"Tea?" she offered him from the slightly dented pot. He decided he liked that particular teapot very much, nodding an affirmative. She eyed him dubiously as she poured a cup of the strangely aromatic tea, passing it to him with a frown. "I take it that whole unpleasant business was about you? Am I correct?"

"I didn't know you knew so many crude forms of language," he deflected, trying to identify what herbs she'd put into the brew by scent. He could do so for many poisons, but learning Misae's herbs had become a recent interest of his. Paranoid by nature, he quizzed her to explain the uses and side effects of every herb she applied in the poultices and medicines she used on him.

"Heh… You'd be surprised what sort of things I know," she murmured darkly, taking a sip of her own tea with closed eyes. She had nicely shaped eyes, he noticed. The color was interesting. Strange. He almost would've mistaken her for an Uzumaki were it not for the distinctive protrusions on either side of her head. Her eyes flipped open then, as if feeling his own on her, and then she asked softly, "Would you like me to read your fortune? I'm really quite good at it…or so I hear. They call me a witch. But they're only half-right."

Amused, despite himself, he drained his cup and passed it back to her. "The future, hm? Is that so?"

"Mmhm…" She nodded, picking up his cup and rotating it in her hands, seemingly concentrating on the grinds left in the bottom of it. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flickering back up to stare at him through her long lashes. "Though I can't guarantee you'll like what you hear…"

He arched a brow at her. "…Try me."

The corner of her lips quirked up into that tight lipped smile of hers for the briefest of moments before it disappeared just as quickly, then, glancing back down at the tealeaves, she spoke, "…The tablet is a lie."

He blinked. "What?"

"The tablet…" she repeated, tilting the cup at him as if he were to make sense of the muck at the bottom of it. "It's a lie. Does that mean anything to you?"

He stared at her sharply, and lied, "…No."

She shrugged carelessly, continuing to turn the cup in her hands. After a moment, she went on, "It's a curse. Forged over centuries by a shadow. It tempted the elder brother into fighting the younger, and the two haven't really made up since. It corrupted the tablet and turned it to lies. The shadow is the reason for the curse. It follows you. It pretends to be your will, but it is actually the will of someone else manipulating you. The plan will fail. It ends in death… Hundreds of pointless deaths. Including your own."

"…That makes absolutely no sense," he said with a studious frown betraying his own words.

She shrugged yet again. "The future rarely does. But you can change it if you want to…"

His eyes flicked to hers, unnerved. "…How?"

She blinked back at him, tilting her head and giving him the first real smile he could remember receiving from her. "It's already started. According to this, you're supposed to be dead already. You're not though. I fixed that part." She paused thoughtfully. "If you'd like to stay that way, I'd highly suggest a change in this 'plan' of yours. Find out who the 'manipulator,' this 'shadow' is, and get rid of it. I'm not exactly sure of any specifics, but if you are, then that's great." Her eyes creased at the severe look on his face, and her smile widened. "I told you I was good at this."

"Bragging doesn't suit you…" he told her quietly.

"Does that mean you think I'm right?" she questioned back just as quietly leaning towards him somewhat over the table—he noticed a strange, vertical scar marring the skin hidden behind her side swept bangs—amusement dancing in her eyes.

His eyes darkened. "…I'm not saying it's impossible."

"Do you ever give people straight answers?" she laughed, surprising him.

"Do you?" he returned, dangerously close to smiling.

Her own smile didn't falter. "I'll take that as a firm 'no'…"

He _did_ smile then, a slow, rueful curl to his lips. Interesting indeed. Perhaps the girl would be of more use than he anticipated… She reminded him uncannily of a description of someone he'd once heard of in one of the decaying texts he'd researched. Certainly they could not be one and the same. This woman was not a shinobi—much less the one he was thinking of. Several signs pointed that out, by the way she lived, to her soft appearance. She could just be a very good actor, but he doubted she could hide much from his eyes…

* * *

><p>He was back periodically over a course of several weeks, brought in this time with a tumultuous rainstorm and a crash of thunder and lightning. He wasn't just dripping rain on her floor. Shocked, she jumped from where she had been preparing supper and guided him over to sit him down on her bed without prompting. He appeared to be holding wounds shut. "What on earth have you been doing to yourself this time? Do you really want to die that badly?" He leveled a glare at her, but it seemed halfhearted and was duly ignored as she indiscriminately stripped him of his coat. Getting a clear look at the new wound, a deep gash appeared to have ripped open his gut. She paled slightly. "Not good… This is <em>really<em> not good. Why do you keep doing this to me? Do you hate me?"

"If I hated you…you would know…" he grunted out, pain lacing his voice.

She didn't answer, busy boiling the tools she was going to use to put him back together with—dinner idly forgotten. She thrust a homemade pill into his hand, along with some tea to wash it down with. "You're taking pain killers this time. I don't care about your paranoia. If someone bad comes, I'll chase them off with my teapot. Have more faith in me."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have faith in you…" he coughed somewhat weakly and winced as pain wracked his frame, eying the pill in his hand with distaste, but downing it anyway. She was glad he didn't argue, and her heart gave that curious flutter again at the vote of confidence. She ignored it with a frown, moving to clean the new wound dutifully and dabbed at it carefully with a fragrant disinfectant oil.

The medicine worked quickly, and she had him sewn back up just as fast. She didn't want him losing any more blood than he already had—or worse, his guts. "One of these days I'm not going to be able to save you, you know…" She murmured idly as she wrapped an inflammation soothing poultice in a perforated cloth and secured it to the wound with bandages. "Please be more careful in the future… I don't want to have to bury you."

"You sound worried…" he was impudent enough to aim a teasing smile at her. It could've been the drugs, but she still frowned back reproachfully.

Eventually, she reasoned her anger away with a shake of her head, reaching out to pat down his wild damp hair somewhat exasperatedly. "I am," she admitted honestly. It's not like he would remember any of it in the morning. "You make my life more complicated. But things would be…dull without you. It's nice…having someone to worry about." At his consternated frown, she assured him. "Not that I doubt your skill. I've heard you're pretty famous."

He grimaced. "What have you heard…?"

"Your friend Hashirama keeps showing up every so often, even though I told him to stay off my property. But he has some interesting stories. I'm not sure whether to invest in some of those fancy Uzumaki security seals, or invite him in for tea…" she mused quietly.

"Definitely the seals…" He scowled. "What is he telling you? What does he want?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "He seems to be under the impression that you're dead. So it's not about you. He keeps trying to convince me to move into his stupid village. They have running water and power, but it costs them a fortune. It's really draining their resources apparently. I happen to know a way to get power _without_ paying an arm and a leg." At his calculative look she asked, "What? You didn't think I was just some reclusive herb lady did you? I'm an inventor, an alchemist, a scientist." Or an electrical engineer. Only those hadn't technically been created yet. Not in this life, anyway.

He blinked at this new information in slight surprise. "Is that why you keep going on about that broken water device of yours? You seemed quite distraught over it."

She sighed. If he could make deductions like that, the medicine must not have been clouding his thoughts as much as she had anticipated it would. Why did this always seem to be the case with him? "That device is what powered my entire home. Without it, I can't continue my work. I'm _extremely_ depressed about it." '_An apology would be nice_,' she thought dryly, but didn't hold out hope.

Still, he seemed thoughtful. "What do you hope to accomplish…?"

She frowned at him, turning away from where she'd put dinner back over the fire pit to consider the question carefully. "…I had a dream once. It was about a world filled with light. It was so bright, that even if someone were to look down at our planet from outer space, all they would see would be thousands of little pinpricks of light dotting the earth—the brightest spots would be the cities, of course. The light would be so brilliant that it would block out the stars. And that same light connected people from all over the world. A person on one side of the planet could talk to another on the other side instantly without even having to raise their voice. They could even see each other's faces while doing so, despite the distance between them." Pausing, she shrugged once again and murmured in a more subdued tone. "…I just thought it would be nice to see that kind of world again. It might take a while, but we'll get there someday. I am going to bring this world out of the darkness. You will see."

After a moment, he scoffed, shaking his head. "You're delusional. A place like that is nothing but a fantasy."

Her eyes flicked to his, but she remained undaunted. "I can do it. It won't even be that hard. All I need are the building blocks. My turbines for one thing. Those were difficult to get ahold of. I still haven't been able to dive far enough into that godforsaken crater you two created to get them back. Once I have them, the rest can be rebuilt generally easily, and I can finally get on with my work."

Not looking convinced, he crossed his arms over his chest with a skeptical look, though he said, "You sound irritatingly sure of yourself… I'll bite. What do these things do, exactly?"

It was a long, technical conversation, about energy and atomic particles. Even if, to Misae, the theory behind it was repetitively simple, it was a great deal harder to explain to someone who was just being introduced to it for the first time. He was quick though, and interested enough that she felt something close to flattered. They talked for hours upon the subject, and moved on to how the world would be like if things were a little brighter. It was…bizarrely pleasant, even if she could never have imagined in a million years having a pleasant conversation with a man like Madara Uchiha.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but woke up in her bed the next morning to the sounds of birds chirping and an empty cottage. A playful light filtered through the moth-eaten curtains over the single window, urging her to get up and meet the morning, but for some reason, she didn't quite want to move yet. She could still trace the remnants of his scent on her pillow, and in her waking haze she unconsciously leaned into it. Was it strange to admit that she wished he would still be there when she woke up? Probably—to say nothing at all about the implications it boded… She wondered when she had started looking forward to his appearances, and even those of the less frequent Hashirama—though the latter of which was considered largely more as an annoying sales solicitor that wouldn't take no for an answer. Suffice to say, her teapot got a lot more uses out of it, whether it was to serve two, or bash someone over the head with it. There was a strange warmth in her chest she couldn't remember feeling in a long time.

She didn't want it to go away just yet.

Misae was just walking out to head over to the bath house when she found them. There, lined up quite neatly in front of her door, covered in varying amounts of algae and muck…were her turbines. She was so shocked that she fell to her knees. In the next moment, an overwhelming feeling of joy welled up in her so quickly she had to laugh out loud. She could cry from happiness. And in an instant, she knew exactly who to thank for it.

'_Wait just a little longer, Madara_…' she thought to herself determinedly. '_I'm going to light up this world_.'

She went in to town the next day for supplies. Heading out of the forest was always somewhat of a daunting process. Donning a hood never did her any amount of good, nor any other attempt to cover the horns on her head. When she was small, it was a simple method of growing her hair out and arranging it over the then subtle nubs, but as the years went by, she was no longer able to hide so easily. She no longer went to the effort of devising elaborate hairstyles, and just let it fall down her back in a scarlet river. It was faintly ridiculous enough as it was how rapidly she could draw attention, and fixating on her own appearance only seemed to make it worse.

She tried not to look at anyone as she made her way through the tiny town, though the eyes directed at her person were more than a little nerve-wracking. Whispers sounded incredibly loud, and there were even those who let out sounds of shock or outrage. Worst of all were the mothers who drew their children away protectively with hard, guarded eyes. Ironically enough, Misae loved children. Though she hadn't lived long enough in her last life to get around to having them, and the prospects this time around weren't looking so bright either. She sighed morosely and she didn't even realize when someone fell into step beside her.

"Funny seeing you here Misae-sensei!" She jumped at the familiar tone, and lifted her head slowly to stare reproachfully at one Hashirama Senju.

She blinked, her face working itself into a scowl. "What on _earth_ are you doing here? Don't you have a village to run? Why do you insist on harassing me?"

He flinched away from her questions with a guilty countenance hanging his head somewhat miserably. "Well…if it were up to me, I'd gladly leave you in peace, however…my brother…"

"Who is in charge? You, or him?" she shot at him accusingly.

"You have to understand—it's not that simple—"

"Is." she denied shortly. "Your brother sounds like a control-freak. This is _your_ problem, but, by extension, it is now my problem as well. Do something about it, or face the wrath of my teapot." He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, but seemed to be coming up short. A black cloud of depression seemed to be coalescing above his head, and his shoulders slumped rather pitifully. Misae let out a long suffering sigh. "You're pathetic."

"I know…" He seemed close to tears.

"Stop agreeing with me!" She rounded on him, beyond irritated, fingers itching with the desire to throttle him.

"I'm sorry!"

"Stop _apologizing_!"

"What should I do then?" He seemed genuinely distressed in his desperate effort to appease her, and Misae couldn't help but cover her eyes in exasperation.

She sighed heavily. "…Hashirama-kun, what do you _want_? Be out with it already, so I might actually get something productive done today. As you already know, the answer to any of your propositions is most probably going to be 'no,' so if you're just here trying to avoid confronting your control-freak brother, then at least be convenient and make yourself useful to me."

He blinked once, perking up significantly. "Yes, I can do that! What would you like me to—_oof_!" He grunted when she shoved her heavy bag into his chest without preamble and he questioned almost disappointedly, "…You want me to carry your groceries?"

"Are you complaining?" She sent him a look that said '_you_ _better_ not _be_.'

He shook his head quickly then grinned blindingly at her. "Certainly not, Madam! I'm honored to assist you."

"Stop brown-nosing… It won't help your case," she grumbled, her face reddening in embarrassment. She almost would've preferred the complaining. She quickly hurried on to the next store on her list, trying to ignore her chatty new companion.

The man she bought scrap metal from was called Genji. She knew him fairly well through association, and was one of the rare people—unassociated with ninja or criminal activities—who did not flinch at the sight of her. He even sent her a small smile when she bowed her head to him from across the counter in greeting. He was a recently married man, and, from the sound of a very cranky baby on the level above the shop, Misae gathered that he had recently become a father as well.

"Congratulations." She smiled serenely at him. "I'm happy for you. The gift of a child is quite fortuitous in these times."

"Heh… Tell that to my headache," the man laughed somewhat morosely. Misae noticed dark circles around his eyes and stress lines she hadn't seen on him the last time they'd met, and at her concerned expression, Genji seemed to wilt slightly. "I almost lost the two of them in childbirth… Hachiko is still too weak to be up and about, and Hana hasn't stopped crying since she was born. None of us are getting any sleep." He tried another halfhearted laugh, but it still couldn't quite hide the desperation in him.

Frowning, Misae thought carefully. "Hanako-san is able to breastfeed, I assume?"

"Ah…yes, but…" He seemed somewhat flustered at the question. "What do you…"

"I have a tea she can drink that will help both her, and the baby, if you would like…" She nodded to him considerately.

"R-really? Thank you!" Genji seemed to sink somewhat in relief. "How much?"

"Payment is unnecessary." She shook her head with a smile. "A child is a blessing upon the earth. I would truly be the monster rumors speak of if I did not do what I can for the little ones. Please be at ease."

If anything the words only seemed to spur Genji on, and he insisted on giving her a one hundred percent discount on her purchase. If anything, the nulled cost was more than what Genji would have paid her for the tea anyway, which did not sit well with her conscience, but the man would not be persuaded otherwise.

"That was quite kind of you," her ninja pack mule observed with a rare tone of seriousness to his voice. "I've never seen that side of you before."

Unwilling to comment on that, she sent him a wry stare. "Do you have children?"

And, like that, the serious Hashirama dissolved and he grinned happily. "One on the way. I just found out recently."

She laughed at that thought. "That must have been an interesting conversation. I can just imagine you acting like an idiot in front of your poor wife. She must be a very patient woman in order to deal with your nonsense."

He ducked his shoulders somewhat, cheeks bashfully red. "She is…"

She shook her head at him. "Funny. I'm a bit envious of you, you know. Children really are a blessing."

"I agree." Serious Hashirama was back. "It's part of the reason why we…" He paused. "…_I_ decided to create the village I was telling you about. Children won't have to fight for their lives on a battlefield anymore if all goes as planned. The village will protect them until they're old enough to defend themselves properly, so they can stand a fighting chance."

Misae narrowed her eyes and bit out somewhat venomously, "Children should not have to defend themselves _period_… There should be _rules_ to warfare. Using children as weapons in such pursuits is disgusting. That people consider it _normal_ is even more so. There is something fundamentally wrong with this world…"

"Perhaps you're right…" The man nodded gravely, but fixed her with a strongly determined look. "But if we can look beyond past hatred and grudges, and work together, it can be healed. That is what I truly believe."

"…Hmph." She sent him a wry look. "You have an uncanny way of inspiring hope in people. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

He rubbed the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. "Maybe once or twice…?"

She couldn't help but want to smile at him. Hashirama really was a likable person. It was impossible not to like him. He was so inherently _good_, it was nearly insufferable. But still…her smile faded. "I still can't work with you, Hashirama-kun. It's not personal. I think you are a genuinely good hearted person, with the best of intentions…" She closed her eyes in resignation. "But the nature of shinobi itself is shrouded in secrets and deception and desperate scrambles for power. Can you imagine what a _government_ run by those principles will turn into several years down the line? You might have the best of intentions, and you can put as many failsafes into this as you want, but what happens when you're dead and gone, and the vision you sought after becomes nothing more than a mask to cover up the corruption within?" She shook her head. "There is no good solution, unless you intend to live forever, which comes with its own set of problems... And I'm not telling you to give up. What you've accomplished is admirable." She sighed heavily. "But I just can't be involved with such things. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive…" he told her quietly after a while, a certain heaviness weighing down his posture as if he were very, very tired. "A friend of mine was of a similar opinion, and said much the same as you just did… He was convinced that it would never work."

A slight smile twisted her lips and she remarked, "Is this the one you ripped a new asshole in my forest with? Remind me not to criticize your ideas too harshly. I'd be afraid to hurt your feelings. Honestly…" She shook her head slowly. "You ninjas…so much drama. I'll be expecting the great love story of Hashirama and Madara to be published worldwide soon. I can't wait to read it. Though I hear some parts of it are a bit…twisted. It should evidently be kept away from children."

The look on his face was vastly entertaining, switching through various cycles of colors and disgruntled expressions as he attempted to construct denials or an otherwise viable response to that implication. In the end, he failed, and just hung his head, managing to choke out, "Misae-sensei, you're _terrible_…"

"Oh, it can get worse…" she assured him with a sadistically amused grin. "If you're going to continue this little habit of becoming my personal pest, I've got a lot more where that came from. Believe me." Her grin widened, "Also, I believe if we're familiar enough with each other where we can have a peaceful conversation about your bizarre…_pursuits_ with Madara, we're at the point where you can just call me Misa."

He let out a long sigh, but smiled and chuckled at her good-naturedly nonetheless. The guy sure knew how to take a beating. That's all she could say for it—that, and teasing him was a bit _too_ entertaining. She noticed talking about the other man caused him a fair bit pain. Turning the subject into a lighter one seemed to do him some good, as he clearly had a tendency to become easily depressed. His mood swings bordered on bipolar, she noted with a bit of chagrin. It threw her for a bit of a loop when she first met him. What an odd man.

Helpful though, she had to hand it to him. "Would you please take this to Genji-san? You'll be quicker than I am." She handed him a bag of herbs she'd put together upon returning to the cottage—mostly fennel and chamomile, some catnip and peppermint, and an entirely separate container of ground Slipper Elm bark that could be made into a kind of gruel, along with a list of instructions. "I'll have a reward for you when you get back."

"Really? What is it?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if she were hiding whatever it was behind her person.

"It's a surprise." She smiled.

"Then I will return quickly, kind Lady!" He gave her an exaggerated bow—she really did have to wonder if he was just mocking her—and in a blink, he and the herbs were gone.

With that, she sighed with a bit of relief. He had a somewhat of a gigantic presence that wore her out after a while; she could only handle Hashirama in certain doses. And, using the respite for a taciturn escape, after wrapping up a few chocolate shortbread cookies she was fairly sure no one but Matsutaro-jii-san had tried before as the promised reward with a quickly scrawled thank you note that doubled as a dismissal, she set off for the river with her supplies. She'd already moved the heavy turbines there earlier—noting, with none too little appreciation towards Madara, that if she'd been forced to dive down and get them herself, she probably would've drowned in the attempt. She was hardy, and no slouch, but neither was she a ninja. Idly, she reflected that they did, in fact, have their uses.

She sighed as she put down the scrap metal alongside the extra supplies she'd been able to salvage from the original structure. She was a bit tired after trekking the thirty-minute hike to her initial build site. She cringed slightly at the prospect of rebuilding, but it had to be done. She estimated a month, at least, without accounting for any complications that may arise. Then there was the issue of transferring the power, which would take her even longer, depending on which method she ultimately decided on.

"You know…I can't help getting the sinking feeling that you're trying to get rid of me." She jumped at the familiar voice, and blanched somewhat at the serious continence in the man. "…Is there something you don't want me to see, Misa-sensei?"

She finally settled him with a longsuffering look. "Shinobi… I should have given you more credit. You're very quick."

"My brother is faster," he deflected the praise humbly. "He's also less…understanding than I am. Misa-sensei, if there's something you're trying to hide, I would highly suggest telling me now. Tobirama can be very impatient. Even I can't control him when he gets like that."

She closed her eyes in frustration. "Are you going to bully me until you get what you want? Is that how this is going to work? I told you already, Hashirama-kun—I like you, I truly do, but I _cannot_ work with your village. I have a goal I want to reach. The whole world will be filled with light one day." She moved on to explain, "But I know how shinobi operate. Secrets, secrets, _so many secrets_—and for good reason. If I were to help your village, my work would also be forced to become one of those secrets. But I want to light up this _world_—not just one part of it. If I do as you ask, and still hope to accomplish that dream of mine, just imagine, if your village became dependent on my power and an enemy sought to exploit that! Can you even comprehend how devastating that would be? The village could fall into chaos in the span of less than one hour."

The man sighed, and perched at the edge of the river, looking out somewhat morosely—as if picturing the hypothetical scenario—to the other side with a contemplative stare. "'To light up the world,' huh? That really would be something to see…" He looked at her then with a light in his eyes. "Your point is a valid one. But that is why we _need_ skilled people like you with the foresight for such things. If something can go wrong, it inevitably will. That is why plans are put in place to prevent events such as you've just described from happening—and if they do, then there will be another plan in advance to fix it. There is always a way." He smiled at her then. "If we could only help each other—when people work together, I think we can accomplish anything. Surely bringing light to this world would not be such a momentous task if you would only let someone help you." He nodded to her considerately holding her eyes until she knew he could be nothing but genuine when he said, "_I_ would like to help you achieve that dream you speak of."

She stared back at him with all the hesitation of one about to step off a cliff, sizing him up as if measuring the distance to the ground…and if she would survive the drop. The temptation was there too—that certain high-place phenomena—the most bizarre urge to fling herself into the open air, yet she had no desire to kill herself. Still she couldn't help but picture it. And again, there was that fleeting thought of, 'what if?'

What if.

She closed her eyes with the heaviest sigh she thought had ever passed through her lips. "…If this ends badly, _I_ _am_ _blaming_ _you_. Do you hear me, Hashirama?"

The elated grin he sent her was nearly blinding. "Loud and clear, Misa-sensei...loud and clear."

* * *

><p>"Heh…finally gave in, did you?" came the soft scoff of the shadow that had suddenly materialized beside her. "…It appears that I clearly overestimated you. I'd have thought, as stubborn a woman as you are, you would have lasted longer."<p>

She sighed in response. She'd been doing a lot of that lately, it seemed. "It appears as if Hashirama can be more than a little persuasive…" She patted the wood of the bridge she leaned against appreciatively. It really was beautiful—fashioned in the classical Asian architecture that was so popular in this region, and framed on either side by two gargantuan statutes that played at the edges of her memory like a forgotten dream. Beneath the bridge hummed the propulsion of the turbines as the now heavy waterfall made its procession through the dam—a place she would not have been brave enough to attempt construction at before. It seemed strange…a bridge, of all things, between two effigies who could not be farther apart. "He helped me build all this, you know. What would have otherwise taken months for me to do on my own only took him a matter of _minutes_," she remarked quietly with the slightest hints of bitterness in her tone. "The stone monuments took him an hour. Quite a flare for the dramatics, that one." She paused before adding, "…He really thought the world of you."

At his stony silence, that likened him even more to his replica, she went on, "You know…this place really is beautiful now. Not suited for its name. Really, that Hashirama…" She shook her head, her eyes gleaming with the view of the beautiful sunset—all pinks, and purples, and vibrant orange. She could see everything from here. It was a much better view after Hashirama had filled the once barren battlefield with the massive trees he was so famous for. "The Valley of the End… I like to think of it more as the beginning." She turned to smile at him tranquilly, her hair playing softly in the slight breeze. "After all…without its existence, I wouldn't have met you." Again, he did not answer, and for a while, they stood in companionable silence, watching the sun go down.

Finally, she asked quietly, "…Are you going to kill me, Madara?"

His hesitation was an obvious sign that he had considered it at least once. But when he spoke in that dangerously soft voice it was only to ask another question, "…What makes you think you're _worth_ killing?"

She smiled a bittersweet smile. "There you go again with your non-answers…" She looked him over critically. "You're not wounded, as far as I can tell. Therefore, you must be here for another reason. Certainly you do not mean to wish me well. You don't come off as a sentimental man."

"Hmph…" He crossed his arms, his stance amused. "Since when did you become so arrogant as to assume you know me so well?"

She shrugged. "You put a man back together a few times, you literally begin to know him inside and out. Besides…maybe you're not as complex as you think you are." She sent him a cheeky grin.

He barked a laugh. "You really are the most impudent woman I've ever met." After a moment of silence between the two of them, he sobered. "…Konoha, huh?" He spoke the name with a bitter tinge of disgust that could not be disguised.

"Konoha indeed…" Misae echoed, something ominous stirring in her own tone. "I can't say I'm looking forward to meeting the control-freak brother, or living amongst others at all, really." She sighed, thinking back to the packed things in her cottage. "The thought of eyes trained on me at all times is somewhat…"

"Enraging?" he ventured.

"…I was going to say terrifying." Her hands clenched on the wooden railing.

He scoffed somewhat. "In all the time I've been acquainted with you, I've not yet seen you flinch from anything. Not even the threat of death. It's part of the reason why I like you."

There was that flutter again, but she'd grown used to ignoring it. Suppressing a smile, she admitted quietly. "I do not like it when people stare at me."

"_I'm_ staring at you," he pointed out.

"Yes." She did smile then, turning to regard him earnestly. "But you're staring at my _face_." And not the unnatural horns sticking out of her head.

"Your face is nice to look at," he told her matter-of-factly in way of explanation.

This time she was unable to ignore the pang in her chest, nor was she able to suppress the blush on her cheeks as she attempted to hide her smile by looking down at her hands folded on the wooden railing in front of her. She didn't know what possessed her to reply, "So is yours."

He barked out a laugh. "That is perhaps the most pathetic lie I've ever been told."

She frowned at him, nearly scowling, her cheeks still infuriatingly flushed. "Do not accuse me of being a liar!" She resisted the urge to shove him. "I like your face. Do not call it a lie, or so help me, I will go unpack my teapot and beat you with it until you agree with me."

"Yes, because that is an ingenious method of forcing others into submission." He spoke sarcastically, amusement clearly painted on his features. "Why didn't I think of it years ago?"

She shrugged, looking away from him petulantly with a muttered, "Do not mock my means. It worked well enough on Hashirama."

And then he was suddenly in her space, leaning in to stare her directly in the eye as if speaking to a child, all amusement evaporated like dewdrops. "That is because he does not take you seriously. Right now, you are nothing but a potential asset to be used, and thrown aside when your usefulness has been expended. Reveal your association with me, and you will be turned into a potential threat. And I'm sure you know what Hashirama does to people who become threats if you remember what I looked like when _we_ first met…"

She stared back at him from the pointblank distance, deadpan. "…If this is how you show concern for my wellbeing, you're doing it wrong."

He closed his eyes briefly in frustration. This appeared to be difficult for him. She concentrated very intently on not being so hyperaware of the suddenly very warm hand he used to squeeze her shoulder in a show of uncommon—if not all together _nonexistent_—fondness. "Misa. Be careful. That village is a pit of snakes. If I thought I could stop you, I would. But you're like me; once you've got your eyes set on a goal, you're relentless."

She was nearly carried away by the sentiment. Still. She knew him better than that, and smirked. "Liar. Don't try to distract me with pretty words. If you really wanted to stop me, you're perfectly capable of doing so a hundred times over." At his thwarted expression, she patted his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll keep you posted. I know how you like to keep track of what's going on. We'll meet back at the cottage when I go to visit Shisho? Every other full moon or so?"

He gave her a slightly bemused look, then closed his eyes and sighed, still close enough that she could feel his breath brushing her cheeks. He still hadn't removed his hand yet. "…You're too perceptive."

"…To be used as your puppet, you mean? Yes," She agreed in an imperious tone of voice, attempting to ignore his proximity. "You should be ashamed of yourself. How utterly embarrassing this must be for you."

His shoulders shook with quiet laughter, and she started as he butted his forehead against hers softly, stiffening when she felt his roughly callused hand move across her skin to caress her neck. She knew that if he wanted to, he could snap it just as easily as snapping his fingers, and for a split second, her confidence wavered—what if he really did come to kill her? Her heart leapt wildly in her chest. Strange. She couldn't tell if it was from fear, or elation. But then she felt him whisper the words, "Thank you, Misa…" onto her lips before next feeling the press of his own over top of them, and she wondered if it really mattered if he killed her or not; it was just as well. Her halted breath, her paralyzed thoughts, along with her stuttering heart, seemed to have ceased functioning properly anyway the moment she felt her lips give way to compensate for his. But when he pulled away, and she opened her eyes, jolting abruptly back to life…he was gone.

'_Well_…' she thought to herself as she stood on unsteady legs, bracing herself against the railing behind her, '_that was certainly one hell of a way to say goodbye.._.'

Idly, still somewhat shell-shocked, she looked up to see the eyes of both statues staring down at her coldly. She remembered thinking that if there was one thing, and one thing only, the two men had in common…it was their dramatics.

"Just what have I gotten myself into this time…?"

* * *

><p><strong>...Hi again. <strong>

**I wrote this on a sudden spur of inspiration and experimentation with characters a friend (Orokashii) and I are going to be working on a joint story with.**

**It's meant as a stand alone oneshot (my first),****but I may or may not continue it at another time if readers show interest.**

**Please let me know if characters seem out of character, and what you think of Misae. **

**Thank you so much for reading!**


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